


Pretences

by cruciel



Category: Stardust (2007)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruciel/pseuds/cruciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Yuletide 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretences

The gramophone was carefully packed away by the cook, who could probably crumple the fluted speaker like paper in his ham-like fist. Everyone was relaxed from the music and the wine, the crew cheered by the latter and bored by the dancing. Shakespeare couldn't have his crew thinking he was a waltz-loving poncy dancer, so had roared out for more grog and some more lively music, which was everyone pretty much shouting at the top of their voices and waving their arms about in what they thought was a fierce, war-like manner. Instead it looked like a swarm of landed fish flailing about, so Tristan had pulled Yvaine out of the pack and seated her to one side, lest she got hit in the face or stepped on.

 

When Yvaine protested, Tristan warned, "They are a rowdy bunch, with alcohol in them. You'd better go inside and lock your door."

 

Yvaine's eyes twinkled. "Why, Master Thorn, are you worried that I'll get ravished in my bed?" she asked coyly.

 

"No!" Tristan denied, shocked that she even brought up the subject. "Although, you should look- I don't know, more rumpled. A bit tired." He mumbled.

 

Yvaine frowned. "Why?"

 

"Because," Tristan hissed, "You're supposed to be playing the part of- of- you're suppose to be a-"

 

"What?"

 

"A ravished woman!" he blurted out.

 

Yvaine stared. "You think I should look tired," she said slowly.

 

Tristan, mortified beyond belief, nodded, avoiding her eyes.

 

"Is that what you think happens?" her voice trembled, and Tristan closed his eyes in despair. He upset her delicate sensibilities now. There would be tears. "Well, obviously I know you haven't, I mean, I was here, and the captain was here and we're all-" He stopped. "You know what? I'm going to shut up now."

 

Yvaine let out a gasp behind him, and Tristan groaned and turned to apologise properly. The 'I'm sorry I don't know why I said that please don't cry' died on his lips when he saw that the 'innocent' little star looked as if she would die from a fit of laughter, only held back by her hands clapped over her mouth. Her blue eyes were watering.

 

"Oh yeah, sure, very funny," he said sourly, turning his back on her again.

 

Yvaine hiccuped. "I never thought you would be the one to-"

 

"I know."

 

"You realise I could watch what humans were up to in their spare time-"

 

"I know, I realise that now, thank you!"

 

Yvaine giggled. "You humans make silly sounds."

 

Tristan actually covered his ears.

 

"You are so fun to tease," Yvaine reached up and brought his hands down, all seriousness now and a little resignation. "I knew what you meant. You don't want me harmed in any way because you need to take me, whole and undamaged, to Victoria. For that you need to protect me. I understand." 

 

"No!" he flushed, annoyed that she was bringing that up again. "I just…I'm…" He looked at her helplessly.

 

Yvaine stilled. "No?" she asked softly, and damn his eyes, was she _glowing_?

 

Tristan looked behind her and realised that he was not the only one that noticed. Matthews was watching them, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Desperate to maintain their cover, he yanked her into his arms and yelled a little overloud, "Nonsense, wench! I merely want to wear you out all by myself tonight. Arrrrrr!"

 

The crew roared back gleefully "ARRRRRR!"

 

The glow went out as if someone had snuffed a candle. Yvaine's hands balled into fists and she pushed him back with surprising strength.

 

"You are hateful, Tristan Thorn!" She hissed, turned and fled into the cabins below, trying to hide the fact she was crying.

 




 

Sighing, he turned to look at the endless sky above and below him, and let his mind go blank.

 

He liked the stark contrast brought out by dull heaviness of night and the light that made the sky seem alive. Whether it was the gentle glow of the everlasting moon, the mischievous glitter of the stars, or the unforgiving, furious harsh burst of lightning, they comforted him. These lights were familiar, like the night sky of Wall. Tristan remembered the blue blood weakly pumping out the last of Lord Primus' life and the witch's green fire, and shuddered. Nothing was normal down there.

 

"There is a story, told long time ago," Shakespeare suddenly mused beside him, breaking the silence. "Two lovers were separated for a very long time. The man had promised the woman that he would return by the light of the star yonder. The woman waited and prayed to the star, asking that he returns to her, every night."

 

Tristan shifted uncomfortably. "What happened?"

 

* "The woman fell in love with the star instead. She said to the star, 'I cannot see my lover, but I can see you. Will you let me join you? Then perhaps I can be closer to you.'" Shakespeare paused. "In her madness, she jumped off a cliff, hoping to catch the star."   
  


 

"That's crazy talk. How do you fall in love with a star?" Tristan scoffed in what he probably thought was a casual voice.

 

"Very easily, I imagine." Shakespeare replied, because what he was seeing between Tristan and Yvaine, the steady beat of _something _that grew around them unseen, was nothing else than love.

 

"I mean, it's not a person. You shouldn't be able to, the way you can with a person. It's…. different."

 

"Is it?" the captain asked softly. "Why do you think I roam the skies and never have a fixed destination, boy?"

 

"You chase lightening, so I suppose you go where they are. That is how you earn your living, captain."

 

"I make a profit and feed my crew, yes," Shakespeare agreed. "But by this stage I can retire comfortably and-" here he lowered his voice. "-indulge openly in what the piracy reputation could not allow."

 

Tristan really did not want to know. He had unwittingly witnessed The Can-Can repertoire earlier in the week when he barrelled past Matthews to ask the captain something. One look and he was backing out of the cabin and slamming the door shut, staring at it in shock.

 

Matthews was cleaning his nails with a rusty dagger. "I suppose you noble folks don't learn how to knock?" he asked his nails. Before Tristan could reply, he felt the jagged tip of the dagger at his throat. "The Reputation, Master Thorn," Matthews had said quietly, but clearly. "You breathe a word of this, and I'll sew your kneecaps to your eyes and cut out your tongue. Are we in accord?"

 

Tristan nodded, bug-eyed. The cheerful strains of the Can-Can leaked out of the room behind him, an obscene accompaniment to his predicament. "A-accord." He croaked.

 

"Excellent." Matthews had taken the dagger away, and the next moment he was the dirty, surly firstmate again, not a deadly assassin. "Get on with you."

 

Sometimes, Tristan wondered if Shakespeare was as a deviously clever actor as he thought himself to be. It seemed as though the entire crew were aware of his…hobbies. Tristan also wondered if he should tell the captain that his crew knew about the dresses and the feather boas and the sparkly shoes and the corsets were really not the memorabilia of his wenching history. And that they were pretending total ignorance. The most interesting part was that the crew was ready to kill whoever knew the truth about the captain, and Tristan didn't think it was the sheer embarrassment of serving a captain that was flamboyantly gay behind his cabin door.

 

"Pay attention, boy," Shakespeare barked at him, giving his head a swat.

 

"Sorry," Tristan rubbed his head. "I was thinking why you don't retire."

 

"And?"

 

"And I think you like your crew too much to lose them." He said honestly.

 

Shakespeare hemmed and hawed, looking embarrassed. "They are fine men," he said gruffly. "And they serve me well. But that isn't why I don't leave the skies."

 

"You enjoy the power you get from your fearsome reputation."

 

"Fruits of the effort, boy. And I do enjoy giving orders. But no. Try again."

 

"How should I know?" Tristan asked, now annoyed. "You want to retire, but you don't. You are a very complicated man."

 

"On the contrary, I am a very simple man." Shakespeare said. "I do not leave the skies because I do not want to leave."

 

There was a silence.

 

"That's it?"

 

"That's it."

 

"What does this have to do with loving a star?" Tristan asked, exasperated.

 

"Everything." Shakespeare looked at him. "No matter where I go, where I land, where I eat or drink, or whatever whore's bed I sleep in, I am not satisfied that it is the place I want to be the most." He looked up at the rigging, swaying gently in the cool breeze. "And when I sail again, when I turn my helm back to the sky, that is when I am the happiest. That happiness, that freedom, that joy- that is love, Master Thorn."

 

Tristan didn't even realise that he was left alone. He knew what the captain meant. He knew what he was feeling towards Yvaine, which had resonated within him for some time now.

 

It had just been given a name.

 

Love.

 

He knew he was in so much trouble.


End file.
